Page 95 of Texting, Trouble & Touchdowns
She stares. “Lucian.”
“Olivia.”
“This is a bad idea.”
“Maybe,” I agree, stepping a bit closer—just enough to make her flinch and fight a smile. “But it’s a very entertaining bad idea.”
“You kissed me,” she accuses, even though her cheeks are still pink, and she hasn’t moved away.
“You dared me.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. “No, I said, ‘Don’t you dare.’ There’s a difference between that and ‘I dare you.’”
“There is?” I lean down, dipping just enough to brush over her skin. “Because if I remember correctly, your exact words were: I dare you. That sounds an awful lot like consent and encouragement. Plus, I asked you to stop me, but you didn’t.”
“You and your selective hearing.” She glares at me with narrow eyes that make me believe she’s actually trying to remember why she doesn’t hate this. Or me.
I sigh, holding up my hands like I’m surrendering—which I absolutely am not.
“Fine. No more kissing. For now.”
She looks skeptical. “For now?”
“Unless you ask nicely.”
She sputters. “You are?—”
“I know.” I grab the box of cereal, snag a handful, and pop a few pieces into my mouth as if I haven’t just wrecked the air between us. “Irresistible.”
Olivia narrows her eyes at me. “You’re delusional.” Then she points at the cereal as if she’s attempting to pretend we’re having a normal conversation. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
I chew slowly. Purposefully. Like a man with intentions.
“Oh, but sometimes,” I say around the last bite, my voice dropping just enough to linger below her belly button, “it’s so much more fun to talk with my mouth full. We should actually order dinner. Unless . . . you want to be my dinner.”
Her spine straightens. Her nostrils flare. But her pupils? Yes, they dilate just enough for me to notice that I’ve hit a nerve.
She swallows. “You can’t take anything seriously. I guess we can order food, since you’re eating my cereal.”
Her voice is exasperated, for sure. But there’s an undertone of breathlessness—throaty and tight—suggesting she still hasn’t come down from the high that led to the kiss we just shared. It’s as if the thought of my mouth doing anything else is something she can’t entirely ignore.
And that?
That’s my cue.
“I don’t want to focus on food.” I toss the cereal box onto the table. Then I close the distance between us, slow enough to give her time to stop me—but she doesn’t. “Why don’t we discuss more important things? Like my mouth devouring your cunt and telling you all the dirty things I’d like to do to you.”
Her breath stutters.
Her eyes widen.
But her feet? Still rooted to the floor like she wants to hear it. Like she wants to know how far I’ll go.
I lower my head, lips brushing just under her jaw as I murmur, “Like how I’d drop to my knees right now, slide your panties down those fucking gorgeous legs, and taste you until you forget your name.”
Her gasp is audible.
I smile against her skin. “Or how I’d fuck you against the counter, with your fingers tangled in my hair, moaning my name like it’s a prayer you don’t believe in anymore.”
